Walking a path of uneven bluestone,

wind bellows a spray of pink dogwoods.


Storm clouds plow under 

the sunlit sky. I trample petals.


Screen door squawks. I set her dinner

on the kitchen counter. The living room, 


a sea of linens on their sides. I sit at the edge

of a rented bed, her tired eyes, bag of urine. 


The birds are loud today. she stares,

mouth slackens. I leave her, clouds


pounding, trudge back on cracked pavement, 

slick with earthworms straining to the surface.

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